


Unrequited

by draca (wyvernwolf)



Series: Bizarre Love Triangle [7]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, unfinished series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyvernwolf/pseuds/draca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Litton, a tired Sam and a bottle of whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unrequited

Surrounded by the dark and quiet that was CID at night, Sam was sitting at his desk bathed in the glow of his desk lamp, steadily working his way through the overflowing pile of reports that Gene had refused to touch for the past week. The last of the stragglers had left hours ago turning off the overhead lights as they went but this didn't bother Sam in the slightest. He preferred the dark and quiet to the noisy disorder that was CID in the daytime.

Sam was just finishing one of the reports when the sound of the doors opening alerted him that someone else had come in. Looking over his shoulder, he was surprised to see DCI Litton standing just a few feet from him. He had been so focused on his work that he hadn't even smelt the man coming.

Carefully closing the folder and setting down his pen, he turned so that he was facing the other man.

“DCI Litton. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was just leaving when I saw the light. Thought I should check.”

“Well, as you can see, it's just me. So you can leave now. Goodnight,” said Sam with a note of finality. He was about to swivel back to his desk when Litton spoke again.

“It's late. Why are you still here Sam?”

Sam looked at Litton before gesturing to the paperwork neatly spread out on the desk, “Pretty self evident wouldn't you say?”

“You misunderstood me. Why aren't you home? It's late. You look tired.”

Strangely, there was none of the usual condescension that Sam was used to hearing from Litton, and the note of concern was hard to ignore. Sam looked consideringly at the man standing before him. If you ignored the aftershave and his propensity to hog the limelight, and _that_ incident in the lift, Litton wasn't a bad man.

So he decided to be civil, “If I don't finish this lot, it'll never get done.”

Saying this, Sam made a decision, and following his gut feeling (although he really didn't want to think about what Gene would say about him finally following his instincts in this situation), waved Litton to one of the nearby chairs while reaching into the second drawer of his desk to pull out a bottle of whiskey.

“But I think it's time for a break. I was going to bring this home, but I might as well open it now. Don't they say that it's not good to drink alone?”

“Danke schön Sam.”

A blinding smile crossed Litton's face, breaking it from it's usual po faced expression and causing Sam to blink in surprise. For a moment there, Litton had looked almost, well, attractive. And that thought had Sam plonking the bottle on his desk and rubbing his face vigorously with both hands. Bloody hell. He must be tired if he was finding Litton good looking.

“Right. I really need a drink now.” He produced two glasses from the same drawer and poured them both a good measure. He handed one glass to Litton, who had pulled up a chair next to Sam's desk, and grabbed the other for himself.

“Cheers Litton.”

“Salút Sam. And it's Derek.”

“Excuse me?”

“My good friends call me Dirk.” 

“ _Derek_ Litton?”

“Yes.”

“Does Gene know?” 

“I had to listen to Dick joke for a few years so I'd say yes, he knows.”

“So why does he call you Litton?”

“You expect me to know why that brute does anything?”

Sam decided to ignore that and focus only on the important bit. 

“So, _Derek_ Litton?” His eyebrows were doing that thing were they arched up and made him look ridiculous but he couldn't help it.

“Something wrong with that Sam?”

“What? No! Nothing wrong at all. It's, it's not a bad name. Just a bit unexpected. The way no one ever says it, I just thought it was something, well, I don’t know what I thought honestly.”

A snort was his only reply as Litton drained his glass and refilled it from the bottle on Sam's table.

Sam took a sip from his own glass, silently contemplating this latest revelation, Derek Litton. He rolled the name over in his mind. _De_ rek Litton. Ar _thur_ Litton. _Dirk_ Litton. It wasn’t a bad name really. He didn't know if he could ever bring himself to call Litton, Dirk, though. To Sam, Litton was _Litton_. End of.

*

They continued drinking in a companionable silence, broken only by the occasional comment or question, and the clinking of glass on glass as they steadily drank their way through the bottle. Sam hadn't intended to have more than one but Litton was surprisingly easy to talk to, and Sam wasn't really keen on returning to his paperwork or to his crappy bedsit to finish the bottle alone, so when Litton refilled his glass, he didn't protest.

Everything was slowly taking on a rosy glow for Sam and he was aware that he had probably drank more than was advisable on an empty stomach but he was too comfortable and relaxed to be overly bothered. Who knew that Litton would make for such a comfortable drinking partner. The only other person he'd ever felt this relaxed with was Gene. And that was one comparison that he really didn't want to make at this moment. It was annoying him a bit though that while he was finding it a bit hard to stay sitting upright, Litton seemed to have no trouble whatsoever and was looking remarkably clear eyed for all the whiskey he'd had. Then again, Sam couldn't quite remember how much the other man had had. All he knew was that his own glass was rarely empty.

He held out his glass for another refill and gave Litton a wobbly nod thank you before taking another long sip.

Litton was an obnoxious, glory chasing, moustached annoyance. But he didn't look too bad leaning back casually in his chair and waving a hand in the air, pontificating on about something or other. Sam tilted his head and squinted, trying to focus on the hand holding the glass. He'd never noticed before but Litton had quite elegant fingers...like Gene's. He had to fight a suddenly strong urge to start giggling as he imagined Gene's face if he ever told him that his hands were like Litton's.

Sam took another drink, savouring the burn of the whiskey as it went down his throat. His eyes strayed to Litton once again.

_He really doesn’t look half bad does he?_

The thought had barely crossed his mind before Sam was peering into his nearly empty glass in horror. And again, that urge to giggle inanely was back. Bloody hell. What was in that whiskey?! 

He peered myopically at Litton who was pouring himself another glass, letting his gaze wander. The usually meticulously groomed man was looking much more relaxed, and more disheveled then Sam had ever seen him. His normally perfectly combed hair messed up, like he’d run his fingers through it, and his shirt open at the collar with bow tie missing. He was saying something about the R.C.S and Sam, but Sam wasn't paying attention as the moustache had caught his attention. The way it moved as Litton spoke was suddenly very fascinating and Sam couldn't keep his eyes off it.

Leaning over, he slapped a hand over Litton's mouth, muffling the rest of his words. Sam started giggling as the ticklish feel of that moustache on his palm and his lack of attention combined with his drunkenness, aided him in falling off his chair and half into Litton's lap.

Still giggling, Sam peered up at Litton, who had dropped his glass in his surprise at suddenly having an armful of drunk, giggling Detective Inspector.

“Christ, you really can't hold your drink can you Sam?” But the tone was affectionate and even in the befuddled state he was in Sam could see that the other man was more amused than angry. 

Litton hauled him up until Sam was almost in his lap, using his body as a prop with Sam's head lolling on his shoulder.

Litton's moustache was in Sam's direct line of sight and he couldn't resist sticking out a finger and poking the moustache before using the same hand to pat Litton rather roughly on his cheek. 

“'S like a fuzzy caterpillar...,” he said, before hiccupping, which set him off on another fit of giggles and had him precariously close to tilting off.

Litton looked down at him in bemusement.

“Right. I think it's time you were in bed Sam.”

“Don't wanna. 'S lonely in bed”

The pout that accompanied that pronouncement was more befitting a toddler but Sam was too drunk to care. The drinks were muddling his mind and he wasn't fully aware of what he was doing. The niggling thought that he might want to reconsider what he was doing, and _who_ he was doing it to, was ignored. All he knew and cared about at that moment was that he was comfy and he wasn't alone. That was all that mattered. He wiggled about until he was fully in Litton's lap and hid his face in Litton's neck, sighing with happiness as he felt arms wrap around him and grasp his shirt.

Wrinkling his nose at the rather strong lingering smell of aftershave, he nuzzled into the warm damp skin and gave it a small kiss. This got a small shiver in response and deciding that he liked that, Sam repeated his actions until he'd kissed his way up Litton's neck and across his jaw, pausing to lightly brush his lips against Litton's, before moving away to pay attention to Litton's neck again when his head was grasped between two strong hands and lifted up so he was staring straight into a pair of lust glazed eyes. Those eyes came into focus for a few short minutes before turning blurry as they came closer and a pair of lips latched onto his. 

The 'stache tickles was his first thought before everything fled his mind and he lost himself in the sensations those lips and tongue engendered. It had been so long since anyone had kissed him in this time and he savoured the feel and the push and pull.

*

The feel of Sam's mouth on his was fleeting but Sam was kissing him voluntarily and it temporarily shortcircuited Litton's thought processes before he registered that Sam's mouth was moving away again. Quickly he brought his hands up and gently grasped Sam's head, tilting it up and staring into Sam's glazed eyes. Bridging the small gap between them he closed his lips over Sam's, and his mind went into overdrive at the touch, and he swore heaven was kissing Sam Tyler.

The rasp of Sam's unshaven cheek was incidental, as his attention was fully on Sam's mouth and the taste of him, the heat and pressure, the uneven ridges of his teeth, the dips in his mouth. 

The kiss definitely wasn't gentle and there was absolutely no finesse about it whatsoever, saliva and tongues both played huge roles, and the click of teeth against teeth could be heard and felt but none of that mattered. It was hot and needy and they both wanted this.

Litton lost all track of time and place, he was was so wholly invested in tasting and exploring Sam's mouth. There was a buzzing noise in his ears and lights sparking behind the lids of his closed eyes as his hands roamed over the younger man's body, feeling the muscles in Sam's back shifting under his hands, and in turn having Sam's hands fisted in his hair, holding their heads together.

Sam's wriggling was proving too distracting though, situated as he was directly over Litton's groin. His movements were making it hard for Litton to control himself and he was sure that if he didn’t do something to stop Sam soon, he’d embarrass himself in a very spectacular way.

Gasping for breath, Sam pulled away giving Litton the chance to gulp in a few much needed breaths of air as well. 

Litton just couldn't believe this was happening. When he'd seen the light on in CID, he'd hoped it would be Sam and had inwardly cheered when it was, and then when Sam had actually been civil to him and offered him a drink, well, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. He'd surreptitiously pinched himself a few times and had never been more pleased to feel pain, as it meant that this wasn’t one of his dreams. It was real. He had Sam Tyler in his arms, Sam Tyler’s hands were roaming around his body and Sam Tyler’s very supple tongue had been in his mouth. Granted, Sam wasn’t all that sober, but at this moment in time, Litton didn’t give a damn. All his dreams were coming true and he wasn’t going to look a gifthorse in the mouth.

Sam moved his head until it was resting in the crook of Litton's neck and Litton could feel his breathing slowly evening out, the warm puffs tickling his neck, when the warm body in his arms suddenly became a dead weight. With a grunt, he tightened his arms around Sam before he slipped off and onto the floor, and looked down. Closing his eyes in frustration, Litton let out a low groan. Sam had bloody fallen asleep. This was worse than his dreams! He had Sam in his arms but he was totally out of it. Litton didn't know whether to cry or laugh. This was the story of his whole relationship with Sam. One tiny step forward, and ten massive steps back.

No matter how much he wanted to, Litton wasn’t about to take advantage of Sam while he was asleep. He was pretty much willing to do anything to further his own causes but he had to draw the line somewhere. And molesting an unconscious man was that line.

With a lot of effort, Litton managed to adjust them so that Sam’s arm was slung around his shoulder and he had an arm around Sam’s waist. Standing unsteadily, they made their weaving way to the lift where Litton thankfully used the wall as a prop. Sam might be slight, but he was still quite heavy. 

Once they were on the ground floor and the lift doors creaked open, he stuck his head out to check there was no one around, after all, it wouldn’t do his health any good to be seen with Gene Hunt’s unconscious DI, before dragging Sam out with him. They made it to his car without running into anyone but Litton didn’t relax until he had driven away from the station with Sam safely strapped in the passenger seat beside him.

He shot a quick look at the sleeping man beside him and had to smile at the picture he made. The ruffled hair and sleep slack face made Sam look young. Younger than he already appeared and more carefree. The habitual crease in his forehead from having to deal with Hunt was gone and the lines around his mouth had eased away in sleep. The smile turned into a smirk at the sight of Sam's lips. They looked red and swollen, thoroughly kissed, he gloated.

Pulling up in front of Sam’s flat he stopped the car but didn’t immediately get out. He would have preferred to take Sam back to his place but he knew that it would be a bad idea. Sighing, he got out and went about the not unpleasant task of getting his Sam out of the car and into his bedsit.

It had taken a while and some pretty fancy manoeuvering on Litton's part but Sam was safely in his rather shitty cot. Heaving Sam's deadweight had taken its toll on Litton so he decided to take a look around Sam's flat and get his breath back.

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he took in the rather threadbare and desolate look of the room with some horror. His Sam lived in this dump? He wouldn't let his worst enemy live here. There was mould in the corners, and the wallpaper! No wonder Sam looked so tired. The wallpaper was hardly what could be called conducive to good sleep. And there were empty whiskey bottles littering the floor, no doubt a product of Gene Hunt's abuse of his Sam.

A low moan brought his attention back to the bed. Sam was sprawled over the cot, booted feet hanging off one side and head partially on his lone pillow. He looked uncomfortable and was moving around restlessly.

Smoothing his moustache nervously, Litton tried to decide what to do next. Leave or make Sam more comfortable? The result was a forgone conclusion really. It wasn't in him to leave his Sam like that.

So he carefully removed Sam’s boots and socks, lining them neatly next to the cot, before reaching over to Sam's waist. Indecision made him pause however, his hands hovering over Sam’s belt. Should he? Would this be taking things a step too far? But he wasn't going to do anything untoward. He was just making his Sam comfortable. Litton had fallen asleep fully clothed before and he could personally attest that leaving your trousers and belt on didn't make for a comfortable sleep, especially when the trousers in question were so tight they looked painted on. So decision made, he slowly undid the buckle and carefully slid the belt free. He noticed that his hands were shaking and smiled wryly to himself. Well, that was to be expected. He had dreamt about this almost every night since he'd clapped his eyes on the pert backside in the ridiculously tight trousers prancing around the station.

Settling himself precariously on the edge of the cot, he slowly pulled Sam’s zip down and untucked his striped shirt, checking every few minutes that Sam didn't wake. Chewing on his lip and taking a deep breath, Litton carefully worked the trousers off Sam, skimming his hands lightly over his legs but all the while trying to keep his eyes off Sam's Y-front covered groin. He might have sneaked a few peeks but he was proud of himself for not staring longer.

After the trousers, he undid the top few buttons of Sam's shirt but stopped short of unbuttoning it completely. Somehow he didn't think that Sam would be very appreciative at being completely undressed. 

The gaping collar of the shirt perfectly framed Sam's collarbones and showed off the curve of his neck. His St Christopher's medallion was nestled in the hollow of his throat and gleamed dully in the low light. The sight proved to be too much of a temptation and Litton was an admittedly weak man. Propping himself up on one hand, he reached out and lightly touched Sam's neck, gradually moving his fingers until he was stroking Sam from his neck to the top part of his chest and back again. The sight of his fingers against Sam's pale skin was mesmerising and he felt a jolt of desire shoot at the hot and slightly sticky feel of Sam's skin under his touch. The groan that left his mouth was wholly involuntary. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he continued to ghost his hand lightly over Sam's chest, losing himself in the sensation and relishing the opportunity to touch what he'd wanted for so long. Sam didn't even seem to register the touch as his only reaction was to let out a sigh. So Litton continued his stroking, slowly moving his hand further up until he reached Sam's head and he could card his fingers through the short hair.

Eventually though, the awkward position he was in made itself known in the form of a cramping sensation in his left thigh. Shifting relieved it momentarily but Litton knew he'd have to move or risk it getting worse.

Reluctantly removing his hand from the pleasures of Sam’s hair, he reached down and pulled up the thin green blanket, tucking it lovingly around Sam. The whole time Sam slept on, letting out the occasional soft snore, happily oblivious to everything around him. A soft smile on his face, Litton smoothed Sam’s hair again, his eyes creeping down to Sam’s slightly parted lips.

Another opportunity might not come along anytime soon and they'd already kissed anyway. It wasn't like he'd be taking advantage of Sam. With that thought firmly in his mind, he wet his lips, leaned in, and ghosted his lips over Sam’s. 

This was a much gentler kiss, only the faintest of touches but a tremor passed down the length of body as his lips contacted with Sam's, his eyelids fluttering closed. Sam's lips were as silky soft as he remembered with a lingering taste of whiskey that was mixed in with something else that Litton had tasted only when he'd kissed Sam and could only identify as Sam.

Pulling back, Litton sucked in a deep breath before letting it out in a shaky gasp. He opened his eyes, letting them roam over the dips and planes of the face lying in front of him before he leaned in again and kissed Sam some more. 

He only pulled away when his arms started shaking from the strain of having to hold him up.

He was slightly horrified at what he'd done, taking advantage of a sleeping and drunk man, but he couldn't really bring himself to fully regret it. And it wasn't fully taking advantage of. It had just been a few kisses, and a bit of touching, nothing more. Even though his raging libido was telling him to _just take Sam now_!

Sam was still blissfully asleep and when a snore escaped those slightly parted lips and Litton couldn't help but chuckle. Oh how he adored this man.

His hand reached of it's own accord to rest against Sam's cheek. The rasp of Sam's unshaven cheek against his hand and the heat of skin on skin was electrifying and sent his already rocketing pulse even higher. He could barely bring himself to pull away but he did, curling his hand and digging his nails into his palm to stop himself from touching Sam again.

The growing tightness of his trousers was making itself known but it was a condition he was sadly becoming accustomed to when it came to Sam Tyler. It only took one look at Sam in his tight pants and open necked shirts to get his blood pumping and his cock twitching, which was most awkward when it happened at the station.

Drawing in a deep breath, Litton pushed himself away from Sam's bedside and turned to survey the room again. Spying the bottles on the floor, he picked them and placed them on the lone table before turning back to Sam. He couldn't put it off for much longer so with one last lingering look and a whispered “Buena Notte, Sam,” he left, making sure to securely close and lock the door behind him.

Behind him, Sam pulled the blanket closer to his chin, rolled over and snuggled into his pillow with a faint smile on his lips.

Litton slowly made his way back to his car an odd mixture of jauntiness and sadness warring in him. By the time he reached his car, a wide smile had crept across his face and he couldn't stop touching his mouth. Things were finally looking up!

*

The weather the next morning was a perfect reflection of his feelings. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the few clouds that were out were big, white and puffy. His neck and jaw still tingled from where Sam had kissed him that night and he could clearly remember the feeling of Sam's lips under his. His hair and moustache were perfectly styled and he looked good in his new purple jacket, if he did say so himself. All in all, everything was serving to bolster his already happy mood to newer heights. Sliding his sunglasses onto his face, Litton was humming as he made his way to his car. By the time he bounced into the station, he was whistling.

The irritated glares he got from those that were obviously not as happy as he, didn't bother him in the slightest. Leaving a trail of aftershave behind him, Litton made his way to his office, ignoring the urge to make a detour to CID and say hello to Sam. He wasn't a fool and wasn't about to step foot in Hunt's lair when the man himself was there, not even for Sam.

He'd try and slip round later, at the time when he knew that Hunt and most of his boys, excepting Sam, would be down in the cafeteria.

*

Litton was just returning from his daily visit to Superintendent Rathbone’s office when he spied Sam waiting for the lift. He was leaning with his back and head resting with a look of deep concentration on his face. 

Litton stopped and took a minute to take in the delicious image that the other man presented. It was tight black trousers today, the tips of his boots peeking out the flared bottoms. No leather jacket so the black shirt tucked into those trousers showed off Sam’s flat stomach nicely. The black of the shirt also contrasted with the pale skin of his neck beautifully. And with Sam’s head tilted at that angle, that neck looked downright lickable stretched out like that. Litton leaned to his left a little and caught a glimpse of the ever present medallion glinting at Sam’s throat and had to fight down the urge to walk over and lick the hollow where the medallion rested. 

Litton approved of the entire ensemble, especially the trousers since they showcased Sam’s tight backside perfectly. 

Quickly checking that his own clothing was in order and smoothing a hand over his already perfect hair, he strolled over with a smile on his face.

“Guter Tag, Sam. Beautiful day. How's the head?”

“Litton! Uhm, yes, good morning,” Blushing, Sam hurriedly pushed himself from the wall and turned to face Litton.

“Sam, I thought we agreed last night that you'd call me Dirk?” he said, placing a hand on Sam's arm, relishing the firm muscle he could feel there and inwardly thrilled that he could touch Sam.

“Dirk. Right. Uh...”

Sam shuffled his feet nervously, his face flushed as he glanced down at Litton's hand on his arm. Shooting a glance up at Litton, he pointedly directed his gaze back to the hand before looking back and cocking an eyebrow. Message read loud and clear, Litton dropped his hand.

An awkward silence descended which confused Litton but before he could say anything, Sam spoke again.

“I’m glad I ran into you. Because I needed to talk to you about last night. I-, I’d like to apologise for what happened. I was obviously more exhausted than I realised and shouldn't have been drinking since the whiskey obviously had a more detrimental effect than expected-”

“Sam-,” Litton tried to interrupt Sam's rambling but stopped when Sam lifted up a hand.

“No, please, let me finish. I also need to thank you for getting me back to my flat and into bed. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd just left me here-”

“Sam, please. Stop. No apologies necessary. You'd been working hard and you were tired. I understand that. I should have insisted you stop after the first glass. And I was more than happy to take you home. You need looking after, you look much too tired most of the time. Probably from having to deal with Hunt and his boys. And don't worry, your virtue's intact,” Litton grinned as he said this but Sam didn't see, seemingly more interested in his boots.

When Sam looked back up, the worry in his eyes made Litton realise that this wasn't going to end well and his grin faded. His earlier happy feelings took a nosedive to end somewhere in the vicinity of his well polished shoes. 

Sam was biting his thumb, something that Litton had noticed he did when he was thinking, his brow furrowed, and he looked so worried that it was all Litton could do to not try to comfort the younger man by taking him in his arms.

“I hope I didn't do anything else I have to apologise for?”

“You mean other than getting drunk and passing out?”

“Uh, well, yes.”

Litton looked at Sam for a long moment, taking in that he looked worried and embarrassed.

“What do you remember?” He asked cautiously.

“Well, the drinking definitely. We talked and I vaguely remember falling off my chair,” Sam said with a sheepish smile and hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“You don’t remember throwing yourself into my arms and snogging the hell out of me then?”

The horrified look on Sam’s face was more than Litton could stand. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes for a second before opening them and continuing.

“Joke, Sam. Other than passing out and slobbering all over the upholstery of my car, you were the perfect date.”

His smile felt more like a grimace but it seemed to pass muster with Sam who instantly looked relieved, although at the word date, Sam's face had flushed even redder.

It had crossed Litton’s mind that Sam might not remember but he'd managed to convince himself that wouldn't be the case. It was too much to hope for. He wanted to push their connection, to remind Sam about how he'd had his mouth all over Litton's neck, but he didn't. Sam was still in denial that they were perfect for each other. If he pushed, he would most probably get a broken nose for his troubles, he thought bitterly. No matter. The first step had been made. He’d just have to continue pushing carefully. It should only be a matter of time before Sam realised that they were made for each other. And then, the sky would be the limit with Sam by his side.

“Tyler!”

The shout was followed by the camel covered form of DCI Hunt barreling down the corridor towards them.

Sam immediately took a step back from Litton and raised both hands in the air. “Guv, I was just-”

“Shut it, Gladys. No time for your bollocks. There's been a blag, so shift it. I'll deal with _you_ later Litton.”

At that last bit, Litton shot a glare at Hunt but quickly moved back as the other man came closer. The look that Hunt directed at him in return was scorching in its ferocity. If looks could kill, Litton was pretty sure he'd be six feet under.

Hardly slowing his approach, Hunt grabbed Sam by the scruff of his jacket as he passed and hauled him away, heading towards the stairs.

As he watched Sam being taken away from him, Litton's feelings were in turmoil. Confusion, hurt, anger, they were all present, but they faded a bit when he saw the small apologetic smile that Sam shot at him over his shoulder, just before he was forcibly turned away by Hunt.

The warmth in that smile was enough to sustain him through the long day until that night, when he lay in his lonely bed and wished for more.

-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Non-con is Litton touching Sam while he sleeps.
> 
> Had to do a bit of a rewrite in the section with Litton's name as when this was written, the show hadn't gifted him with a first name so I had to come up with something. He's Derek now and the change reflects this.


End file.
